Child of Deductions
by darkrose45
Summary: Hamish is the teenage son of the one and only Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. For him, home is filled with arguments, school, with homophods and confusing feelings. So, he turns to drugs. When his parents find out beings the uphill battle (Rated M just in case)
1. Chapter 1

**Hi lovelies! This is the start of my new fanfic. I have quite a few others. Um, oh, I don't own Sherlock (wish I did though) that would be BBC. Hope you like it.**

I woke up to the sound of Dad and Father yelling about fingers in the microwave, again. I groaned and rolled over, trying to block out the noise. "It was an experiment!" Father yelled. _Of course it was, when is it anything else?_ I groaned and drug myself into the sitting position. My black curly hair was in a giant mass of knots, as usual. I raked my hands through it as I grabbed some dark jeans and a Black Sabbath shirt. I snatched my Converse and backpack and walked out into the War Zone.

"Good Morning Hamish." Dad called out, trying to hide the anger under a too sweet of tone. I flicked two fingers his way. I knew he didn't like that. Father knew too because he smirked under his paper. Usually in arguments I took Father's side, probably because he would beat me if I didn't. Dad grumbled something about me being to lazy to even say hi. Father caught Dad's wrist and kissed him softly.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed some toast. I put some jam and butter on it and smashed the two pieces together. I walked back into the living room and almost turned around. They were making out. "Gross guys still here!" I called, making Dad jolt away from Father. This made Father laugh and Dad grew red.

"Hamish, shouldn't you be going to school?" Dad asked, turning to glare at me. I shrugged and took a bite of the toast.

"Probably." Father snorted at this. Dad glared at him.

"Sherlock you are not helping." Dad hissed. Father simply shrugged. I smirked and finished my toast. I tied my Converse and flicked two fingers at them. "Bye Hamish have a nice day!" Dad called out as I shut the door. I heard Father's deep voice mumbling something to Dad. I stopped my 's door.

"Ohhhh Mrs'Hudson." I half snag into her flat. The old lady came bustling out, in a nice purple dress.

"Oh Hamish! I thought you were Sherlock for a second!" She pressed her hand to her heart. she handed me my lunch for the day. "Have a nice day dear." She smiled at me.

"You too ." I kissed her on her cheek. "Oh, you might want to check up on my parentals later." I winked at her and stepped out of the flat. I hailed a cab and gave him the address to school.

When we got there I paid him and mentally prepared myself for the day ahead. _Okay, I got this, _I told myself as I walked up the long drive. Students all around me glance at me as we make the trek together but separate. When I reach the front of the school, Mop and Dara pounce on me.

"Hami! Why didn't you come out with us last weekend?" Dara cried, throwing her hands up. I shrugged as we moved through the front halls to our locker.

"Yea, we had to be all lonely." Mop pouted, sticking out his lower lip. Mop had probably the shaggiest hair in the school. His brown hair reached his shoulders and was never brushed, hence, Mop.

"Sorry guys but, the Fathers wouldn't let me." I sighed as I spun open the locker. Dara grabbed her History book and stack of magazines. I snatched my Chemistry book. Mop just used my book. I shut the locker and we loitered. Dara and Mop yelling at me for leaving them high and dry. Suddenly, a thick hand landed near my head.

"Hey fag." The voice the hand belonged to sneered. Jack Filsh, captain douchebag and of the football team. I rolled my eyes and turned to Dara and Mop, both of them glaring at Jack. "Fag, I'm talking to you." He snarled at me.

"Sorry no one here is named Fag. I'm Hamish, that's Dara and, that's Mop." I pointed at each of us and talked very slow. Jack narrowed his eyes at me.

"I'm talking to you fag." He snapped at me.

"Nope, nice try. I'm Hamish." I smirked at him. He glared at me.

"I saw your fag of parents making out yesterday. Don't know how you can live with your fag of parents without throwing up everyday. Unless," He sneered at me. "you're a fag too." I did what any kid would do, I punched him in the face. Hurt like a son of a bitch. He roared and punched at me, luckily, I ducked and he punched the lockers. Dara and mop grabbed my arms and drug me out.

"What is going on here!" Principle Garis cried, storming out of his office.

"Hamish punched me!" Jack cried, pointing at me.

"Hamish Holmes!" Garis cried, glaring at me. I marched myself to his office, Jack and Garis following. I texted Father.

**_Punched anther kid, come down. -HH_**

Father texted me back instantly

_**On my way. Be glad John is already at work**_. -_**Sh**_

I smiled, I wouldn't have to face Dad till later. I dropped into my usual chair in Garis's office and waited for Father. He showed up a few minutes later. "Hello again Garis." Father nodded to Garis. He swept a hand for Father to sit. "I was told Hamish punched a child again?" Father smirked, pointing to me. Garis nodded. "I presume it was for a good reason." He turned to me. "I also presume it is because the other child is homophobic, as you are . I know you will side with the other boy, because of your homophobia, which, if I'm correct, is not allowed in school?" Father smirked. 's face grew redder with anger as Father spoke.

"Your boy , causes me a lot stress with his behavior. He is always punching my star athletes, simply because they are being boys." Mr. Garis huffed, throwing his hands up. Father's eyes narrowed at this. _Oh no._

"Interesting Mr. Garis is that, you've never asked my son why he punches these boys. Son, care to tell him?" Father swept his hand. I nodded.

"Jack called me a fag and my parents fags. Repeatedly Mr. Garis." I told him, leaning forward. Mr. Garis half rolled his eyes. I could see the disgust in his eyes as he looked at me and Father. I knew Father could see it too.

"He was just being a boy." Mr. Garis simply swept it off. Gather shook his head.

"No he was not Mr. Garis. I know he has called my son this many times. I also know you don't care because, you are calling us that right now in that little brain of your's. I will not stand for my son to be treated less equal because of me and my husband. I will be informing your district of you homophobia and how it clouds your judgement. I also will tell them how you spy on the girls locker room to get off." And with that, Father and I swept out in a glorious fashion.

**Hope you guys liked it. Reviews are good and I'll try to update but Ihave like four other stories going right now. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello the few readers of this story! um, just gonna jump right in to this chapter. I don't own Sherlock, BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle do. See you at the end.**

Dad wasn't too happy at me or Father when he came home from work. "Do you two always have to get clever with authority?" He snapped as he made tea. Father shrugged and I continued with the mind puzzle Father had me working on. "Not only that but Sherlock, you encourage that from Hamish!" Dad turned to Father, anger flashing in his eyes. Father didn't look up from his paper.

"John, our son must learn to stick up for himself against the idiots in this world. They will try to tear him down but, if I stock him with the ammo he needs, he can keep them at bay." Father told Dad dully, flicking the paper to the next page. Dad rolled his eyes. Father flicked his ever changing eyes at me. "C'mon Hamish, you've solved harder ones in less amount of time." He told me. I nodded, my tongue sticking out in concentration as I moved the last block into place, making it fall open to show candy.

"Oh piece of candy." I snatched it up on inspected it, knowing Father, he would do something to it.

"Nothing was done to the candy Hamish but, I'm glad you're looking." Father praised.

"Are you two even listening?" Dad cried as he set down cups of tea for me and Father. We both looked up at him, almost shocked to see him still here.

"John, you need to clam down, Hamish will do what he wants regardless of what you try to tell him. He's got to much of me in him." Father smirked, taking a sip of his tea. Dad gave a heavy sigh.

"I know and that's what worries me." He muttered to Father who just smiled and pulled Dad onto his lap. I popped the candy in my mouth and savored the sweetness of it. As a child, Father wouldn't let me eat sweets, saying it would dull my brain. mop and Dara would smuggle sweets into school but, Father always found out.

The phone rang it's shrill ring and I got up to get it. "Holmes, the youngest." I answered.

"Ah, Hamish." Lestrade said over the line, I could hear a crime scene in the background. "One of your..parents in?" He paused like most people do. I turned to look at my parents all cuddled up in Father's chair. I smirked.

"Yea but, they're in cuddle mode right now. What's the case?" I asked, saying it a bit loud so Father could hear. Lestradde must've known what I was doing cause he chuckled at this.

"Well, we got two murders so far, both killed in a strange way. About a seven on Shelock's scale." He told me, he then shouted at someone who shouted back.

"Oh, a seven you say? Hmmm I don't know if he'll take it or not. They're pretty deep in cuddle mode." I called, I could hear Dad sighed as Father rumbled something to him. Lestrade chuckled again. Father came striding into the kitchen and held out his hand. I gave him the phone and scooted back.

"Lestrade its me. Hmmm, yes we'll be there." He hung up and turned to me. "Must you always do that?" He asked with a sigh. I nodded. "Of course you do." He moved past me to grab his coat and scarf. When I was five, his old coat hadn't made it through a case so Dad bought him a new one. The blue scarf had been on it's last leg for years but Dad kept patching it up. Dad grabbed his coat and turned to me.

"Do your homework Hamish. there is lots of leftovers in the fridge or, go to Mrs. Hudson for food alright?" Dad told me as he yanked on his coat. I nodded and waved a hand at them.

"Yes, yes alright." Dad rolled his eyes and they walked out. I waited till I heard the creak of the outer door's hinges before I grabbed my phone.

_**Parentals are gone. -HH**_

I waited for Mop and Dara to text back. I got the first one from Mop.

_**Sweet! What do you want? -Mopsy**_

_**Bring whatever you got. -HH**_

_**Awesome! Gonna sneak out. -D**_

_**Okay cool. On my way -Mopsy**_

_**Almost to you.-D**_

A shift, three knocks came at my door. Dara. I threw it open and she slipped in. "Hey hey." She grinned. "Just love what you've done with the place." she smirked and I knocked my shoulder against hers. My phone buzzed.

_**Shite! Almost got caught gonna be a bit longer.**_** -_Mopsy_**

Dara read over my shoulder. "Man! Mop sucks at his job!" she cried, throwing her hands up. I laughed at her.

"Calm down, parentals will be gone all night. If not, you guys can crash in my room, no biggie." I dropped onto the couch and stretched out. Dara flopped down next to me.

mop threw open the door, a grin on his face. Dara popped up. "I got like, everything." Mop grinned holding up his bag.

**Yup, cliffhanger. course, if you read the summery you would know what it is. Use your deduction skills to figure it out. Reviews are pretty cool. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Aaaannnd back to the story! Left you guys on a nice little cliff, now, I get to push you off it! Yay for me. Anyways, sadly, I don't own Sherlock, BBc does as does Doyle. See you at the end.**

Mop grinned at us as he opened the bag. "Let's see here, I got some pills." He set down a pill bottle. "Some joints." Down went a smaller baggie with joints stuffed in it. "Some more pills." Another pill bottle down. He gave a shrug. "Pick your poison lady and gentleman." He called in his best ringmaster voice. Me and Dara went for the pills. If we were outside, we would have snatched the weed up like thieves. mop chuckled at us.

I let about three red and blue pills fall into my hand. Dara was very OCD and would only take an even number of pills. she popped four. Mop popped three. We quickly cleaned up our little drugs party and moved to my room.

Once we got there, the drugs went into effect. Dara started to giggle, she always did that. Mop leaned back and stared at my ceiling. I would just chill and wait. We started to get goofy, laughing for no reason, trying to crack lame jokes that would send us rolling with laughter. Mop stole on of Dara's hair ties and made it so his hair made him look like a unicorn. We then made his hair into a ponytail Mohawk.

"You look mighty sexy there Mop." I grinned at him. Dara laughed at this. Mop grabbed my face and kissed me. I pushed him away at first but, he kept coming at me so, I kissed him back. Dara 'oooh' at us like a five ear old. Mop licked at my bottom lip, causing me to open my mouth. His tongue slipped in so, I sent mine on a search mission into his mouth. We made out for a while before Dara wanted in.

We took turns making out, we sat in a triangle and would lean over to kiss the other. It seemed like me and Mop would make out the longest before Dara got jealous. We did this forever before, Dara got bored. She half stumbled out into the kitchen while me and Mop continued to kiss. I had him half reclined, my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, his around my neck to stop him from falling all the way down.

"Ooh boys!" Dara sang ans she sauntered back into my room. "Look what I found." She held up the container of fingers. mop laughed and grabbed one. I snatched one up and smirked at Mop.

Commence finger lightsaber battles. The championship battle was between me and Dara. She fought hard but, I fought harder. In the end, I was the winner. I won a free kiss from Mop. It was an excellence prize. About two A.M., Dara got a text.

"Aww I gotta go home guys." She whined. Mop and I gave her a kiss good-bye and made sure she got a cab. Mop turned to me as soon as she was gone. a smirk ripped across his face. I gave a gulp. He mashed his mouth onto mine, holding my head in his hands. We walked back until we landed on my bed. I flipped us over so I was straddling him. We pulled apart and just breathed.

"Hi." He smiled.

"Well hello there." I grinned at him. Mop pulled me back down, kissing me softly. He trailed down my neck, stopping to bite and suck. I moaned and dug my hips down. I yanked his head back up and kissed him hard. I pulled his bottom lip into my teeth and sucked, making him moan. My tongue swept slowly through his mouth. His hands ran up and down my spine, making me shiver. I raced my hands up his shirt, tracing his ribs. He pulled away again.

"Hami, I-I don't want to-" I cut him off, seeing how awkward he was.

"I understand Mopsy." I told him, smiling. He nodded.

"Okay. Return to what you were doing." He ordered. I smirked.

"Ohh you mean this?" I squeezed his nipple hard, making him gasp. "Or," I smirked again. "this?" I licked a trail slowly up his neck, stopping at the bottom of his jaw to kiss. He grabbed my hips and ground up. "Mmm you like that don't you?" I purred into his ear, biting at it. He gave a moan like whimper. I trailed my hands up and down him as I kissed his neck, I bit and sucked, leaving my mark. He kept a death grip on my hips, pushing up. Mop finally got a hold on himself and pulled me up to kiss me. We went sift at first before we exploded in lust. His hands traveled up my back, walking up my spine. I hand two fingers dipped in his waistband, spinning circles. Our tongues battled fro dominance, neither really winning.

Around four we pulled apart, yawns interrupting us too much. I rolled off of him, gasping for air. "Stay here tonight Mop, I don't trust London right now." I muttered in his ear. He gave a nod. I stood up and yanked off my jeans and shirt. Mop blushed at this. "Oh, like you've never seen my in just my pants before." I teased him. I grabbed some pajama bottoms and pulled them on. They were Batman, my favorite superhero. I threw mop a pair.

He striped down, showing off just how thin he was. He was anorexic almost. I traced each of his ribs. We curled up in my bed, Mop's bony back pressed against my chest. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer. "Night Mopsy." I murmured in his hair.

"Night Hami." He whispered.

**Well, yea. Don't know where I'm gonna go with that...Aaaannyway, reviews are sweet maybe. Um, bye.**


	4. Chapter 4

**So, hi. Next chapter in my weird story. I promise, somewhere in this story is a plot line. The plot line is like the spine and all my words are the blubber hiding it. don't worry, I'll find it. Anywhoot, BBC and Doyle own this not I (sadly.) **

I woke up to something bony jamming into my side. I pulled my eyes opens to see it was Mop's elbow. His back was pressed to my chest, my arms looped around his waist. One of his hands was tucked under his head, causing the elbow into my kidney. I chuckled and pushed his elbow out of my organ. This little shift caused him to jolt awake. "Whoa Mop." I muttered in his mass of hair. He turned to look at me. "Morning." I smiled at him. He smiled back, sleep making his hair even messier then it already was.

"Hi." His voice was thick with sleep, her rubbed at his slate colored eyes. "Mm, what time is it?" He asked, blinking quickly. I grabbed my mobile.

"Ummm, ten." I replied, throwing my phone back onto my nightstand.

"Ten? In the morning?" He cried, panic flared in his eyes. "Dude, its Friday we still have school!" He cried, wiggling out of my arms. I chuckled at him. He spun to glare at me.

"Relax Mop, Dad probably called us out." I gave a shrug and grabbed my mobile again. I pressed 1 and put it to my head. It rang a few times before he picked up.

"Hamish? What's wrong?" Dad panicked and I gave a sigh.

"Nothing Dad, can you call me out today? I overslept." I asked, glancing at Mop, he started to bite at his nails. Dad heaved a sigh.

"I already called you and your- friend out for the day." He gave a slight pause which was weird.

"Okay, thanks Dad. Love you." I said and ended the call. I turned to Mop. "So, Mopsy, what do you want to do today?" I asked with a smirk. He flopped back onto my bed and rolled over to look at me.

"Well, I'm pretty hungry." He admitted, pressing a hand to his belly. I nodded and crawled off the bed and sauntered into the kitchen. He scrambled after me, like my skinny shadow. I whisked around the kitchen, grabbing a pan, the eggs and the package of bacon. Mop sunk into a kitchen chair to watch me. I set a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. He tore at it, I laughed at this before digging into my plate.

When we finished, I took the plates and threw them into the sink. Dad will be mad at me. _Oh well._ I turned back to Mop. He had already tossed himself onto the sofa, the T.V. remote on his chest. I padded over, pushed his feet down and sat. He put his feet back into my lap. "what're you watching?" I asked, playing with the frayed ends of his pajama bottoms.

"I have no idea." He snorted out. I reached over and snatched the remote. He glanced at me. I flicked through the channels, hoping something good was one. I settled on some cop show. We watched for a while, though, I already knew who the killer was.

"Oh come on! How can they not see its the cab driver!" I cried in frustration, Mop chuckled at me. "I mean, how hard is it?" I asked him. He shrugged.

"I didn't know till you shouted it at the poor T.V." He admitted. I rolled my eyes. _I fell like Father._

"How did you not know?" I asked him, interested in his thoughts.

"Well, I'm not part genius like _some_ people." He pointed out, his eyebrows pulling up.

"Irrelevant." I dismissed it with a wave of my hand.

"I didn't grow up being trained to notice things like that either. Plus, most people just watch this cause nothing else is on, like us." He shrugged. I had to agree there.

"Okay, you have some valid points." His eyebrows shot up.

"Only some?" He asked, sitting up. I nodded. "Oh really?" I gave a nod.

"Pretty sure I just said that Mop." I informed him. He slid back down.

"You just have to be smart?" He asked more himself. I shrugged again. "Hm. Our show is over." He pointed out. "You were right, it was the cab driver." _Ha! Of course I was right._ I smirked and he glanced at me. "Alright Mr. Smartypants. Don't go all cocky on me." He paused when he processed what just dribbled from his mouth. We burst out laughing, tears leaking from Mop's eyes. "That sounded so wrong." He giggled. I leaned over and kissed him for no real reason. I'm guessing just.

He tangled his hand into my mass of black curls. I wrapped a hand around his waist. I licked at his lips, forcing them open. We explored, even though we did plenty of that last night. He broke away, for air. "What was that for?" He whispered.

"I don't know really." He smiled and kissed me, it was more planned out then the last one. I pressed my knee into the cushion between his legs, more for comfort then what he thought. Mop tensed. "Sorry, my calves were dying." I muttered into his neck. I kissed a trail dwon his neck, stopping to scrap my teeth along a vein. Mop groaned and his head fell back. I went back up and past his face. I nipped at his earlobe and, kissed around it. His hand tightened in my hair. We didn't hear the door open.

**Another cliff! Reviews are cool I guess. See you guys next chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Yo. I'm serious a plot is here somewhere um, (looks through some boxes) lots of papers in here. So, I'm gonna keep looking for it. But, I have a chapter for you guys to read while I'm at it. So, here you are. Oh, I don't own anything out of this story. BBC and Doyle own it. **

Oh! Sorry loves!" It was Mrs. Hudson. I pulled quickly from Mop and poked my head up from the couch. He face was bright red, about the shade of Mop's. "So sorry, your Dad said you two would be here today. I was coming to ask you two if you could help me with something." Mrs. Hudson wrung her hands. I stood and strode over to her.

"Of course we'll help Mrs. Hudson. Anything for my favorite landlady." I smiled and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled and patted my cheek.

"Dear, I'm your only landlady." She reminded me.

"All the more reason for you to be my favorite!" I laughed. She smiled again.

"Come down in ten minutes." She called as she went down to her flat. I closed the door slowly behind her. I moved over to Mop. I put my hands on the sides of his head. His face was slowly turning back to the pale it was.

"You good?" I asked him. He nodded. "Cool. Now, put on a shirt. Mrs. Hudson is more awkward then you when I don't have a shirt on." I told him as I padded into my room. I grabbed a random shirt and pulled it on. I rummaged around for one that didn't fit. I grabbed an old Black Sabbath shirt and threw it at Mop.

"I don't really like Black Sabbath." He whined. I whirled on him.

"Do you want to get smacked?" I asked him. "You don't say that in this flat!" I fake cried, throwing up my hands. He grumbled and pulled it on. Even though it was pretty small, he still swan in it. I smirked. "You look good in my clothes." He ducked his head. "C'mon, before she calls Dad." I went down to her flat, Mop slinking behind me. "Oooohh Mrs. Hudson!" I sang into her flat. Her head popped out from around a corner.

"Hello Dears. I just need you two to help me move this old junk to the street." She pointed to something in the room she was in. Mop followed me into her flat. Next to her was a pile of, well, stuff. There was no rhyme or reason to the stuff that in the pile. Some boxes, little odds and ends, trinkets, a few dining room chairs, a couple of paintings and empty frames. I looked at Mop, one eyebrow raised. I shrugged, and grabbed two of the chairs. Mop collected some frames and we made the first trek to the street. Odds were, someone would take some of this but, pretty sure Mrs. Hudson would be okay wit that.

"Mrs. Hudson why are you getting rid of all this?" Mop asked after the second load. Mrs. Hudson laughed at him.

"Oh too many memories of my husband in them, dearie." She explained. _Good enough._ I grabbed four boxes and spun out of the door and set them near the stoop. Already, a lady was rooting through the stuff. She saw me and paused. I shrugged, dropped the boxes and went back in. Mop was scribbling something on a piece of paper.

"Mop, now is not the time for drawing!" I laughed/ He held up a hand, grinned and held it up. It read "Free Stuff". I nodded. "Good idea Mopsy. already got a lady rummaging in it." I tossed a thumb behind me. He nodded and trotted out, tape in hand. He came back, gave a nod and picked up more stuff.

By lunch, half the stuff was gone. said it would be better for people to be able to use it then for it to be rotting in a dump. Mop and I went back up to my flat. We didn't pop pills, too risky, so, we settled on video games. I was winning some shooting game when my mobile rang. "Wait." I held up a finger and walked swiftly to my mobile. "Hello?"

"Hamish are you at home?" Panic was all I heard.

"Dad? What's going on?" I asked quickly, Mop turned around to look at me.

"Are you at home?" He demanded. I told him I was. "Good." Dad sighed. "Four boys, about your age, were found dead in the Thames. All from your school." My eyes widened.

"Who?" I asked softly. Mop came over to stand next to me.

"Um, a Jack Flish, Anthony Smith, Donald Thomas and, Allen Jones." He said. I sighed in relief, I didn't know/talk to them. Mop tapped my shoulder. "Hamish did you know and of them?" Dad asked.

"Nope. Is school canceled?" I asked. Dad sighed.

"Yes, for who know how long." I grinned. "I have to go, your Father is blowing up my phone. Love you." I hastily told him I loved him too and hung up. I spun around and told Mop to news.

"Oh, wow. I didn't know any of them at least. And school's canceled." He smiled at this. Dara suddenly came stomping through my door, tears pooled in her eyes.

**Oh you finished! Ummm *Shuffles through some more boxes* I uhhh... NINJA SMOKE ATTACK! *throws some glitter and runs away.***


	6. Chapter 6

**Oh, you guys found me...Ummmm, aw crap I ran out of ninja smoke bombs. Um, yea. So, I don't own Sherlock, BBC and Doyle do.**

"Dara what's wrong?" Mop asked, moving to her side. She just cried more. "Okaaayyy that doesn't help." He put his arm around her shoulders. Dara turned into his chest and sobbed. Mop sent me a panic look, he wasn't good with crying. I wasn't much better. "Darlin' why are you crying?" He asked Dara, pushing hair out of her face. She pulled away, sniffled and shoved more hair from her face. "Did you know one of those guys that died?" He asked.

"Y-yes. Allen. I knew Allen." She wailed, clinging to Mop. I wrapped my arms around her and Mop. We became this awkward sandwich of hugs. Father came bursting through the door. He saw us and the ice that always covered his face melted. He slipped up to his room. I pulled away slowly, wipping tears from Dara's face.

"How did you know Allen?" I asked, pulling her on the couch with me. She flopped onto my lap. Mop flew onto my left side, some of Dara spilled onto Mop.

"Well, we w-went out a few times." She was twisting one of the million rings on her fingers. Mop and I exchanged glances. We'd never heard of this and, when on weed, Dara liked to spill. And not just words. "We were gonna make it official tomorrow." She twisted her ring, her hands shaking. I hugged her tight as she cried into my shirt. Father came back down.

"Dara, you said you were going out with one of the boys correct?" He asked. Dara nodded. "Were the others dating?" He asked. Dara shrugged. "Did you know them?" She shook her head. Father sighed. He went back to his room. Dara and Mop stayed over for a few more hours before he made sure she got home. Dad came home soon after. He had some food from some Chinese restaurant. He dropped off a box a chicken fried rice to me and went up to Father. I grabbed some chopsticks, turned on the T.V. Dad and Father came down soon after. They dropped into their chairs.

"So, Hamish how was helping Mrs. Hudson?" Dad asked, trying to take out the elephant out of the room. I shrugged and took a bite of my food.

"Fine." I replied. Father snorted and bit in a crab Rangoon. Dad glanced at him before setting his box down. He went into the kitchen.

"Son, your dad is very distraught about boys being killed in your school." Father offered to me. I nodded. _Makes sense, could have been me or Mop._

"I understand Father." I said softly, spinning my chopsticks. The phone rang shrilly. Dad picked it up.

"Hello Lestrade. Yup, we'll be there straight away." He hung up. "Honey we have to go." He called. Father sighed and got up. "Son, you know what to do." He called as they walked out the door.

**Sorry it was so short and I took a while to update. Hope you guys liked it. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Holla! So, this one is going to be a flashback to Hamish growing up. May be a bit ranty, sorry in advance. I don't own Sherlock, BBC and Doyle do.**

**Hamish, age 1**

"Bug, come to Daddy." John called sweetly, holding out his arms. Hamish was learning how to walk long distances, meaning, from one end of the flat to the next. Sherlock was perched in his chair, hands steepled. His ever changing eyes following his curly haired son as he toddled halfway across the flat. The child fell, his legs crumpling like freshly shot deer. His rump thumped onto the floor and the detective winced. The small boy looked at the floor like it was its fault he fell. Sherlock chuckled at this. He un-did his long legs and held his pointer fingers out. The already slender fingers of the child wrapped tightly around them as the detective helped his son up. John smiled at the slight grin across his husbands face.

"There you go Hamish." Sherlock muttered to his son before folding back into his chair. "Go to Daddy..Bug." Sherlock added fondly. The boy wobbled his way to his Dad.

**Hamish, age 5**

"Daddy, what if the other kids don't like me?" The curly haired fiver year old asked his dad. John sighed, his son already got picked on for his parents. John knelt in front of his son, taking the skinny boy by his shoulders.

"Listen Bug, some kids, just won't like you. It's a fact of life. It is their lost if they don't want to be your friend. You are brilliant and funny and honest. Any kid will be honored to have you as a friend." John told to young boy, fierce love in each word. Hamish nodded. "good, now go make some friends." John smiled at his boy, clapped him on shoulder, kissed his forehead and sent him off. He waved to Hamish as he darted into the school. A lady came to stand next to him.

"Your wife didn't come?" She asked. John chuckled and shook his head.

"No, he had a case to work on." He said as nonchalant as he could. The woman's eyes widened and she slipped away from him.

Hamish found a seat in the back, next to a boy with the longest hair he'd ever seen and a girl in all black. "H-hi." He whispered. the girl turned to him, black bangs hanging in her startling grey eyes. She held a hand to her ear. "Hi." Hamish whispered louder.

"Hiya!" She practically screamed. Hamish winced, screaming wasn't allowed at home, though Daddy and Father did it. "I'm Dara!" She called, holding her small hand out. Hamish suck his slender one and shook her hand. "This is Thomas, I call him Mop though." She pointed to the long haired boy. Hamish nodded to him. "Who are you?" She asked.

"H-hamish." The curly haired child stammered.

"Nice to meet ya Hamish." Dara grinned, showing a gap in her teeth. Hamish giggled at her.

**Hamish, age 7**

Sherlock was sulking in the couch when he heard the outer door bang open and snap shut. _Hamish must be home._ He raised his head when his son came crying through the door. "Hamish!" He jumped up and collected his miniature clone in his long arms. The boy cried into his Father's favorite purple shirt. "What happened?" The detective asked, anger biting his words. _How dare someone hurt my son!_ He flopped onto the couch and held Hamish to his chest, like he did when the boy was a baby and would fuss. The boy clung to his Father and calmed down to the soothing rub of Shelock's hand on his back.

"A-a boy c-called you a-and Daddy b-bad words." He hiccuped. Sherlock stiffened. _Must have been terrible words to get him all worked up like this._ Sherlock concluded, his son was like him in almost every way. From his looks to his guarded emotions. The only thing different is that Hamish, wasn't cruel. He was detached yes but, not cruel.

"What kind of words Bug?" Sherlock asked softly, not in a voice woman used for babies, but a voice where the ice surrounding him melted, reserved only for his son. Hamish shook his curl covered head. Sherlock tilted his chin up, looking into the youngest Holmes eyes. Like his own, they never stayed one color. Now, they were a brilliant green swirled with grays and blues.

"I-I'm not allowed t-to use those words." The boy argued. Sherlock sighed, of course his son followed the rules.

"I'll allow it just this once." Sherlock offered. Hamish was still weary. "Bug, i'm trying to help okay?" Sherlock tried. The boy nodded.

"They called you guys, f-fags. Said i-it wasn't in the Bible for two boys to m-marry. T-they pushed me off the slide. M-Mrs. Fou d-didn't do anything Father! She just shrugged." Hamish cried, tears leaking out of him again. Anger boiled in Sherlock. He held his son tight, rubbing circles on the distraught boy's back till he fell asleep. Sherlock held him still, missing this. John came home to this and a few broken plates.

**Hamish, age 11**

"Mop c'mon! Dad and Father won't be back till super late!" The curly haired preteen coaxed his friend. Mop, his dusty brown hair as long as ever, looked at his friend warily.

"You sure?" The quite voiced boy asked. Hamish nodded. Mop flopped in the circle of Hamish, Dara, Mop, Tania, Billy and, Julie. An empty soda bottle in the middle. Dara spun first. It landed on Billy. The group "Oohh" as Billy leaned over and kissed Dara quickly. Tania spun next, landing on Mop. The long haired boy kissed her quickly, barely brushing her lips. Hamish spun, it landed on Mop. "Am I a bottle magnet?" The quite boy joked. The group laughed nervously. Hamish grinned at his friend and kissed him, a little slower then the first two. Hamish pulled back, leaving Mop breathing heavier.

The bottle landed on Mop and Hamish two more times before Billy bailed, claiming to hate seeing boys kiss. Hamish gladly let him leave. The girls left after him, not enough boys. Leaving Mop and Hamish to their sleepover.

**Hamish, age 14**

"Are you sure Holmes?" Charlie asked, glancing around. Hamish snorted and nodded.

"Of course I'm sure Charlie! No one comes back here." The gangly boy snorted. He led the light haired boy to the very back of the school, a perfectly blinded spot. "See? All alone." Hamish gestured to all around them. Charlie nodded nervously. the taller boy grabbed the smaller by his shoulders and kissed him softly. Charlie, new to this, followed Hamish's lips, doing just what the more experienced boy did. Hamish chuckled and pulled away slowly. "Charlie, kiss how you think is right alright?" Hamish chuckled, his finger playing with the slight curls on charlie's hair. The other boy gulped and nodded.

"Alright." Hamish leaned in and kissed the lighter haired preteen. Charlie moved his lips in a new way to Hamish. He went with it and it felt wonderful. He nudged Charlie's mouth open with his tongue. The shoter boy moaned in Hamish's mouth. After a while they pulled apart. Breath spitting out each rapidly. The went in for round three. It was cut short by someone clearing their throat. Hamish pulled away with a growl and looked over. It was Principle Harmer, the most anti-gay man Hamish had ever met.

That night, his parentals got into about him. "Sherlock he got kissing another boy on campus today! You're not worried?" John cried. A snort was the reply. Hamish smirked, his Dad could take things too far, his Father though, would give logical answers and shut Dad down early.

"John, calm down. It is natural for a child to explore. Be glad it's now and not later, when words will hurt him most." Sherlock told his husband. John huffed.

"Bug, can you come out here?" John called. Hamish stood and padded out. His Dad only called him Bug, his Father only did when he was begging for a cigarette, knowing his son had a supply.

"Yo." Hamish smirked, watching his Dad tick. Sherlock smirked.

"We were talking about what happened today, at school." John told the younger Sherlock. He couldn't think mini Sherlock since Hamish was almost as tall as his birth father.

"I heard, more like yelling." Hamish retorted. John sighed.

"Alright. Well, we are okay if you're gay son. Or straight or whatever you choose." John concluded. Hamish nodded.

"I already knew that Dad. But, thanks." The boy turned and went back into his room. John sighed and flopped into his chair. Sherlock smiled at his husband.

"Only gets easier love." The detective told the shorted man. John laughed at this.

**Whew that was long! But, awwww little baby Hamish! Don't ask why Bug, just came to me. I wanted to write some more Daddy Sherlock, thought it would be cute. I was right. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay, I just want to write more cute little baby Hamish stuff! But, I can't. Back to our originally scheduled story! I don't own Sherlock, BBC and Doyle do. **

I didn't call Mop and Dara over so, I dropped into my desk and read. I put my headphones in, set my mobile on my thigh so I would actually notice it and started my book. It was a action book about future Earth, like so many these days. I had been reading for an hour before my phone buzzed. I ripped out a headphone and picked it up. "Yo?"

"Hami! Heeeyyyyy." Mop slurred over the line. I sighed. "Heyy dduuude a-aree youuu coomingg ooveer toniiight?" He asked, I think.

"Nah man." I told him.

"Looseeer!" He sang over the line. I hung up. Then, thought about it. I looked at the clock. It was only nine. I could go out, get a wonderful buzz and be back before the parentals came back. _No Hamish. A killer is out there killing boys your age!_ My brain argued. I snorted and grabbed my black hoodie. I yanked it on and tied on my Converse. I grabbed my keys and walked out. Mrs. Hudson was already in bed so I shut the outer door quietly. I hailed a cab and rattled off Mop's address.

When we got there, I paid him and stepped out. Mop lived in a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of London. His flat building was falling apart, probably built long long ago. The outer door didn't even lock. I tossed it open and walked casually to the third floor. I knocked three short raps on door number 11A. Mop threw the door open, his hair tied back. His eyes were already super red. Dara, Mop's two older brothers, Maxy and Alex were there. Along with two random girls. "Heeyyyyyy Haamiii made iiit guuys!" Mop called loudly. They all cheered. Smoke clogged the ceiling and all the air in the flat. I already had a small buzz and I was barely in the flat yet. Mop shut the door and handed my a joint. He lit it for me and I took a long hit. The smoke encased my lungs, not like smoke from a cigarette. I blew it out in crooked rings. Dara giggled, her top already off. She was super high.

"Hammi have seen you in foooooooreeeever man!" Maxy called, taking a hit from the joint being passed around. "Lookin' skinnier each time." He joked. The girl on his lap giggled. I took another hit of my joint and blew the smoke out slowly.

"Why does Hami get his own joint?" Alex whined. Mop had a wicked grin across his face.

"Cause, I love Hami more then you!" Mop cried. I flopped into an armchair and took another hit. I smiled as I watched Mop take a hit, his eyes wide as he sucked down the smoke. He released it with a gasp.

Suddenly, a sharp knock came at the door. We all froze. I glanced at the windows, all of them already open. The smoke still swirled in the air. The knock came again. "This is the police!" A very familiar voice called through. I det my joint down and opened the door. Lestrade stood there, his eyes wide when he saw me. "Hamish?" He asked, peering at my eyes. _Shite_. He swept a hand and his men stepped into the flat. "Hamish you-" He sighed. "I'm disappointed Hamish." He told me. I shrugged. Soon, all my friends were led out in handcuffs. Mop looked at me, panic in his eyes. "C'mon Hamish." Lestrade led me out of the building and into his car. He drove me home.

Dad and Father were up, waiting in their chairs. Never a good sign. Dad swept a hand to the couch. I gulped and sat.

**Sorry it is short again! Ooooohhhhhh guys, next chapter is gonna be good, I can tell. **


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm very sorry for not updating guys! But, I have a nice long chapter for you to make up for it. I don't own Sherlock, BBC and Doyle do.**

Dad was furious, I could feel it seeping off of him. Father was more disappointed then angry. His galaxy eyes were muted, like they always were when he was disappointed in me. I sat stiffly on the couch, folded my hands and waited. Lestrade was stopped by Mrs. Hudson and offered tea. _Thank the Lord for her._ I looked the parentals in the eye before dropping them to the floor. "Hamish how could you?!" Dad screamed. _BOOM! _"Why? Tell me that Hamish, why would you turn to drugs? Are you sad? Angry? Why drugs?" Dad pleaded, a shred of defeat slipping into his tone.

"None of those reasons Dad. I just, it was an escape. It took all the stress of being the son of Sherlock Holmes! You guys fight all the time. School is pointless and annoying. It is the only relaxing thing in my life." I kept my voice calm, explaining my drug use like I would a subject in school. Father's face softened a bit, I knew he used drugs as a younger man. He used crack, much worse then I. I also knew it was for the same reasons. Dad put two and two together as well. He spun on Father.

"You are the reason for this! He always wanted to be just like you Sherlock!" Dad screamed so loud that even Father flinched at him.

"Dad-" I reached out, but he glared at me. I shrank back.

"John, calm down." Father grabbed Dad's wrist. I pulled my longs legs up and hooked my arms around my knees. Dad used to get like this when he had too much to drink. Father had to drag him out of the room before Dad would raise a hand to me. i would tuck myself away in a corner a wait for Dad to sober up and apologize to me. "John, you need to calm down. Please." Father's eyes were open, terror flashed in them so quick I thought it didn't happen. Dad glared at me for two heartbeats, the longest heartbeats of my life before he allowed Father to pull him into his lap. "Hamish go to your room, we'll talk later." Father dismissed me. I nodded and darted to my room.

xXxXxX

Father came into my room an hour later, alone. I raised my head when the door swung open. He shut it and moved to my bed and sat down. He looked aroundd the room, not quite at me. "I remember when this was my room. Your Dad had just moved in, and I had just recovered from my addiction and was finally allowed to live without a nurse. I still needed a flatmate though." A ghost smile settled on his lips. "who would have guessed that my flatmate would become my husband?" Father asked, a full smile on his lips now. He sighed.

"Hamish, we may look exactly like but, I don't want you to live my life." Father turned serious. "You don't want to hit the bottom I hit, it is the worst place to sit and then crawl out. You are using your short, bloody fingernails to pull yourself out of a smooth sided hole. There are people standing st the top throwing rocks at you to try to knock you back down. There are those trying to help you, floating in balloons next to you, just far enough away that you can't get into the balloons. It is almost impossible to crawl out of that hole. Yet, I did. Hamish, your hole it small now but, you wait and it'll get bigger and deeper. Don't allow that to happen." Father's eyes were misty, his voice cold and jagged. I swiped at my eyes and nodded. Father barely told me about his drug days, those were the worst years of his life.

"I understand Father. I just- I don't know. It's not like I've been doing serious drugs. Just weed and, some pills." My voice grew quite as I said the last word. His eyes flared.

"son you could die from pills. You know that." He snapped. I nodded. "Your Dad is laying down so, he left the punishment to me." Father smirked. "So, your punishment is you have to be Lestrade's assistant while your school is closed." I sighed, that was always my punishment during the holidays.

"Alright, I suppose I can do that." I sigh sarcastically. He smiled and ruffled my hair as he stood up.

"You start in the morning, bright and early." He told me as he stepped out. "Night Bug Love you."

"Night Father, love you too."

XxXxXx

Dad drug me out of bed the next morning at eight and rode with me to the station. "Dad I'm not gonna buys drugs and get high before going to work with the Yard. I'm not that dumb." He simply snorted. That really hurt, I'd completely lost my Dad's trust. He followed me to Lestrade's office.

"Hello Young Holmes, Watson." Lestrade smiled at us as we stepped in. Dad and Lestrade chatted lightly while I went in search of coffee. I found it around a corner and there was Anderson. Father hated the man, for being a complete idiot, apparently. I had met the man a few times and yes, he was a bit of an idiot. He curled his lip up as he saw me, must have saw Father in me.

"Morning Anderson." I greeted, grabbing a cup. The man nodded to me before stalking away. I poured some coffee, more sludge then anything really. I poured a bunch of creamer and sugar in it. It became less sludgy and more coffee. I wandered back to Lestrade's office.

"Alright Hamish, do what Lestrade tells you and don't get in trouble." Dad warned. I waved a dismissive hand at him. He narrowed his eyes at me and stalked away. I turned to Lestrade, ready to do dull, tedious tasks.

"Sorry lad, got a lot for ya today." Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. I nodded, took a sip of my coffee. "Go make some copies of this, about twenty alright?" He handed me a piece of paper. I nodded and went out and down the hallways to the copy machine. Donovan was there as well. I hated that women, she was a homophobic and openly despised the parentals. I narrowed my eyes at her and waited for her to be finished. She knew I was behind her waiting. She played around for five minutes.

"Um, can I use the machine please?" I asked asked politely as I could. She spun, a sneer on her face. She turned back and hit two buttons then stepped away. I knew what she did, she made it so the machine would mess up the papers. I un-did it and copied the paper. I carried them back to Lestrade and dropped them on his desk. "There you go. Twenty papers fresh off the press." I said in my best newspaper boy voice. He chuckled.

"Thanks Young Holmes." He shuffled through some papers then, his phone range. "DI Lestrade.. Yes, I'll be right there." He hung up. "It's about the case, another boy was found." I jumped up. _Is it Mop? Please don't be Mop._ "You have to stay here." Lestrade snapped, pointing to a chair. I shook my head. "Hamish! Stay here!" It was serious if he used my name, it was serious.

"Please tell me who it is. Please." I begged. He nodded.

"I'll tell you as soon as I know alright?" I nodded, what else could he do? I slumped in the chair and waited for the news.

**So, wrote John a little different. Since we don't really know about his past, I kinda wrote it darker. So, will it be Mop? Guess we gotta wait to find out!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello my little flock of lovelies! Got a nice, long review. Gave me some ideas for this nice chapter I got lined up for ya. Just, promise me you won't track me down and kill me. I don't own Sherlock, BBC and Doyle do.**

I paced Lestrade's office for a good twenty minuted before finally, he called me. "Who was it Lestrade?" I demanded as soon as I picked up. A lengthy pause met me. "Lestrade. Who. Was. It?" Panic was filling me up now, my fingernails digging into my palm. _Please no. Please, just answer me this one time. _

"It was Mop." His voice was barely a whisper. I fell to my knees, tears surging out of my eyes. "I'm so sorry Hamish. We are going to find this guy and lock him up forever." Lestrade promised me, a crack breaking his words. "Your Father is coming to get you alright?" His voice went soft again.

"Okay. Lestrade, get that sonofabitch." I told him as I hung up. I hugged my knees and cried, waiting for Father. _Why? Why Mop? What did he do wrong in this world? _These thoughts couldn't stop looping in my head. _I never got to say good-bye. I never got to tell him I love you._ I broke down more, I couldn't see through the tears. Someone was in the door frame.

"Bug..." It was Father. When I didn't react, he stepped over to me, dropped down and hugged me tight. He hadn't hugged my like that in years. I clung to him. "Oh Bug, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll get him. I'll punch him for you." Father was trying to get me to be put back together enough to get off Lestrade's floor. He pulled back and wiped the tears off my face. "C'mon, we need you to make sure it is Mop." He sighed, blues and grays swirling in his eyes. I nodded and stood. He threw an arm around my shoulders and led me out to a cab. I could feel the glares of Anderson and Donovan. We rode in silence, except for me sniffling every few minutes. _See that Mop? You reduced me to a blubbering mess._ I gave a tiny smirk at the roof of the cab.

When we got to the scene, I almost broke right then. We were at the primary school playground, Mop's favorite place. Even as teenagers, we came here on the rare nice days and swung and played on the slides. I knew Mop came here when his dad would hit him, when his parents yelled so loud the flat shook. Sometimes the cops would have to come. This was Mop's hideout. Father led me to where the clump of cops were. Lestrade broke away from them and came over. He hugged, I actually let him.

"I'm so sorry Hami." He sighed. I nodded and he led me to the body. Tears slipped from my eyes. His chest was practically tore apart. I saw shreds of his favorite green hoodie. I knew it was Mop though, no one else had the long, tangled mess of hair like Mop. Most of his face was still there, no mistaking his shallow face and impossibly high cheekbones. No way to mistake that for someone else. _Mop why you? Could you at least answer me that? Why Mop?_ I simply nodded, tears gushing now. Father quickly took me away from the scene. Dad was here now, tear tracks on his tired face. He rushed over to me and Father, hooking his arms around me.

"Hamish I'm sorry I yelled at you." He started babbling all this stuff about if it was me and how his last words to me. Father had to peel him off me.

"John, it wasn't Hamish. Don't make him feel worse." Father warned Dad, you would think he'd already know this. Dad nodded, wiping tears away from his face. I suddenly remembered Dara. I grabbed my mobile and dialed her.

"Hey Hami. What's up?" She asked, sounding like I just woke her. I probably did. I wondered how to say this. "Hami? what's wrong?"

"Another boy was found." I started. I heard her take a sharp breath. "It was Mop." I whispered, my voice cracking. She burst into hard, body racking sobs.

"No, no, no,no ,no. It couldn't have been!" She screamed, her voice breaking and dipping. she made me start crying. "Mop can't be dead! He can't be! You have to be joking! Please" She begged, I could barely understnad her, she was crying so hard. "Please Hami, be joking." She pleaded. I was sobbing now.

"I'm sorry Dara. I'm not." I could barely get the words out. She howled in anguish. "Father and Lestrade are gonna get this sonofabitch Dara, don't worry. They are gonna get him and locked him up forever." I promised her.

"They better or, I'm gonna kill him. Right after I kill Mop for dying on us." She snarled. It was amazing how Dara could change emotions at the drop of a hat. We cried for about ten more minutes before she had to hang up. I told her I loved her, her the same I, and we hung up. Dad came over.

"Bug, you good to go home?" He asked. I nodded. He hailed a cab for me, to the man where to go and paid him in I got home, Mrs' Hudson stopped me. She took me to her flat and we shared tea. She didn't pester me, just hugged me when I came in and left. I went up to my room. I searched around. Finally, I found it. The t-shirt Mop left over that night. I smiled sadly at it and tucked it in an empty shoe-box under my bed. I laid back on my bed, closed my eyes and thought of my days with Mop.

**Yup, crying over here. Please, don't hate me. Next chapter is gonna be a Mop tribute chapter, like the baby Hamish chapter. Get ready for some feels! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Welcome to the Mop tribute chapter! I thought it would be nice for him to have one. I don't own Sherlock, BBC and Doyle do. **

**Hamish and Mop, age 5**

It was a month after school started and Hamish was already bringing home a friend. John was excited, none of the play-dates he had set up for Hamish as a toddler ever worked out. Sherlock grabbed his husband. "john, calm down. You are going to scare the child away." Sherlock told the shorter man. John took in a deep breath. The outer door banged open and shut. He could hear their son calling hello to Mrs. Hudson. He came clomping up the stairs, chatting excitedly to his friend. The door burst open, a very curly haired Hamish followed by a boy. The boy had long, dusty hair. The color of the boy was washed out. All of his clothes had this faded, old look to them. Hamish was chatting with the boy, about superheroes and who was the best.

"Hey Dad, hello Father." Hamish grinned his gap tooth grin at them. The boy looked at John and Sherlock through the curtain of hair. "This is Mop." Hamish explained, gesturing to his friend. Mop startled and stood ramrod straight.

"Hi." He waved a tiny hand at the two adults.

"Hello Mop." John grinned, glancing at the boy. Just under his collar, he could see a nice bruise. Sherlock waved a hand to the boy, about as much attention the child would receive from the consulting detective for a year or so. Hamish looked to John.

"May we go to my room now?" He asked, John nodded. "Let's go Mop." Hamish grinned at his friend and they darted to his room. John smiled and dropped into his chair. Sherlock's face held a tiny grin.

Mop would come over every day after school. Each day the boys would stop and chat with Mrs. Hudson before going up to Hamish's flat, greeted by John and Sherlock, and play for two or three hours before Mop would leave. One rainy day, the first of many, Hamish and Mop were walking home, like always when, a big dog came barreling at them. They screamed and ran, dashing for the flat. But, they were five blocks away, to far for their small legs.

"Mop! In here!" Hamish swung around a corner and into an alley. Mop darted in with his friend. The big dog, a mix dog of some sort, stood in the alley's mouth. He growled, it sounded like thunder. The two looked around for a weapon of any kind. Mop found an old fire poker. He wielded it like a sword. Hamish clung to his friend. The dog stepped forward and Mop lunged the poker at it. The dog growled and stepped back. Mop lunged at it over and over, enough for them to slip past it. They walked backwards the whole way home, the poker in Mop's hands, ready to poke at the dog. Rain soaked them through, making them shiver. Finally, they got to Baker Street. Hamish threw open the outer door and dashed in. Mop set the poker next to the door. Mrs. Hudson ushered them in her flat for tea and biscuits. John about had a fit when he saw them. So, Hamish spun the tale of the big dog and the alley. John took their clothes and threw them in the dryer.

After that day, Hamish carried the poker with him to school. They hid it in a planter outside and picked it up each day. Still, it sits by the door, ready to fight off a dog.

**Hamish and Mop, age 8**

Hamish always wondered where the purple under Mop's eyes came from. One day, he asked him. "Mop, do you wear make-up like the ladies on T.V.?" Hamish asked as the colored. Mop turned to his friend.

"No. I'm just, tired is all." Mop shrugged, grabbing the blue crayon. Hamish looked to his friend's picture.

"Hair isn't blue." He pointed out. Mop shrugged.

"Sherly's is." The brown haired boy responded. He dropped the blue crayon and took the red one. He drew her lips, big and grinning. Hamish thought she looked like a clown. He told Mop that. "She's not a clown." Mop chuckled.

"What is she then?" Hamish asked. Mop picked up the purple crayon and drew a rough circle on Sherly's arm. He colored a border and then colored the rest with a dark yellow. Mop shrugged as he grabbed the black. He lined her eyes with it. He added a bit of purple. Hamish kept coloring his tiger. He drew long lines of red coming from the beast's mouth. He drew circles under the tiger's jaws and colored them red. He added spackled of red to the tiger's paws where the blood splashed back up. "Do tiger's eat zebras?" He asked Mop.

"Nope, those are in Africa, tigers live in Asia." Mop replied. Hamish twisted his lips.

"What do they eat?" He wondered.

"Hippos, deer, pigs." Mop rambled off. Hamish nodded and drew a deer. He colored it mostly red, the red spilling from it's belly onto the ground and dribbling to the tiger's feet. they contiued in silence except for random questions. At the end, Hamish had three drawings of tigers and lions with their bloody dinners. mop drew four pictures of Sherly, her curly hair different, crazy colors, rough cirlce varying colors, some yellow and brown, some purple and yellow, some all black. Her lips were always big and grinning. Sometimes, little drops of red were scattered on the bottom of the page. When John saw these, he was worried. He decided to wait to act, waiting for Mop to show more symptoms.

**Hamish and Mop age 11**

Hamish and Mop were in the comic book faze now. Hamish had a stack of comics almost as tall as him. Mop's only wen to his ankles, all of them from the secondhand book store down the road from his flat. Today, the rare sunny day, was their weekly pilgrimage to the secondhand shop. Mr. Quinn loved to see the two boys. As a comic fanatic himself, he always made sure to take note of the stories the boys were reading to grab at least two copies of the next one for them. Right now, Hamish was cruising through the Batman series. Mop was in the Avengers.

"Ah Young Holmes and Moppy!" Mr. Quinn called as the two came banging into the shop. Mop and Hamish waved to the man happily, continuing their discussion over countries.

"Obviously, America would be the worst place to live!" Hamish argued, waving his hands wildly. Mop shook his head.

"Nah, China would, too many people and rules." He offered, picking through one of the many old comic bins. Hamish thought about this for a moment then shrugged. Mop smirked under his hair. He scooped up an arm of Avengers comics and sorted through them. Hamish did the same wit the Batman comics.

"Nope. Not there yet. Got it. Need it. Um, no?" Hamish sorted his comics into piles, need, other Batman comics, not even Batman. Mop just bought the ones he needed the most. Finally, after an hour they had all the comics they needed.

"Ready boys?" Mr. Quinn smirked from his stool behind the counter. Behind him was a glass case with signed first editions o very famous books. Hamish nodded and pulled out two notes.

"No Hamish I'm buying my own." Mop wined. Hamish shook his head and handed Mr. Quinn the notes. The shop owner glanced at the two bos and nodded, placing the notes in his register. "Wow, tag-teamed." Mop sighed, glaring at Mr. Quinn. "I thought we were best Avenger buddies!" Mop cried. Mr. Quinn chuckled.

"Sorry Moppy, money talks louder though." Mr. Quinn shrugged. Mop huffed and followed Hamish out.

**Hamish and Mop age 15**

"Hey Fags." Jack snarled from behind Hamish in bio. Hamish gripped his pencil tight as he wrote DNA strands. Mop glanced at his friend, worry flickering in him. That word triggered something deep in his friend, probably for his parentals. Mop loved John and Sherlock like his own parents, more then his parents. He would fight for them and Hamish. And Dara of course. "Fags, I'm talking to you." Jack leaned forward, hissing at them. He tapped his pencil on Hamish's curl covered head. Hamish set his pencil down calmly and turned to Jack.

"I'm sorry, we are not tobacco rolled in paper and smoked. We are Hamish." He smirked, pointing to himself, "and Mop." He pointed to Mop. "If you would like some cigarettes like the American's call them, go to a gas station." Hamish told him before turning back around. Mop snorted at this. Jack was sputtering.

"Faggots!" He snapped louder. Some kids turned around, glaring at Jack. "Answer me you little pieces of shit." He snarled. Mop ignored him. "Hey you." He tapped his pencil on Hamish's head. "Your parents are a disgrace. Your druggie of a father shouldn't be anywhere allowed near dead bodies. Your other father isn't a real soldier. Just a doctor playing soldier." He sneered. Hamish's pencil snapped, his eyes flaring brightly. mop set a hand on his shoulder. Mop spun around, anger boiling in his belly.

"Listen here you bag of dicks, don't you _ever_ say John Watson-Holmes isn't a real soldier. He saved lives, risked his own for one of his fellow soldiers. He risked his life everyday to save others. Sherlock Holmes is the reason most murders are caught. He is a hero. His deductions are _amazing! _Hamish is the child of two heroes, two wonderful, brilliant heroes. And if you ever talk bad about his parents again, I will punch you so hard you fly into the Dark Ages. Got it?" Mop told the other boy, his voice low and warning. Jack snorted. Mop spun back around, finishing his work. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Hamish.

"Thank you Mop." He sniffled. Mop smiled at his friend.

"What are friends for?" He shrugged, a smile on his lips. _Friends defend to their last breath. Friends are those you cry on, those you love._

__**So, how was that? Good yea? Yea. Lack of Dara but, it was for Hamish and Mop. Now, Hamish and the crew are seniors in american school, don't know if British school is the same or not with that whole deal. So, 17. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Aww little Hamish and Mop. Back to soul crushing sadness. This could get dark. Just warning you know. I don't own Sherlock, BBC and Doyle do.**

The parentals left me alone the rest of the night. I just laid on my bed and cried. Not huge, body racking sobs, the crying where tears streaked your face and you made no noise. Mop use to cry like this when we were young. He would show up in the middle of the night, blood dripping out of his nose, holding his arm, tears streaking his face. I would let him in and usher him into my room. He would sit in my desk chair and cry as I mad some tea. I would clean up his wounds, give him some sleep clothes and we would sleep. I would wake up to an empty bed, his sleep clothed folded on the edge of my bed. His pillow had little water stains on it.

The next day, I kept to my bed. Mrs. Hudson would come up every few hours to check to see if I was alive. I was, sometimes. Other times, I would just feel numb, I couldn't talk, move or anything. Around noon, the door was knocked on. I hoped the person would go away. More knocking. I urged them to go away silently. Some mumbling between the person and Mrs. Hudson.

"Dear! Please let us in!" Mrs. Hudson called. I cursed her. She knew I couldn't turn her away. I stalked to the door and threw it open. Mop''s father stood in the doorway. My fists curled up. _How dare he show up here! _This man, I had pure hatred for. He punched, kicked and threw Mop when we were young. I had mended cuts, bruises and broken bones. Taking Dad's medical books and using them for instructions.

"What do you want?" I growled, narrowing my eyes. Mop's dad ran a hand nervously through his hair. He knew I hated him, I punched him one day after Mop came to me with three broken ribs and a shattered dream of playing violin. Mrs. Hudson went back down to her flat, good choice on her part. Mop's dad shuffled on his feet. "Well?" I demanded.

"I came to speak with your father." He finally said, not looking me in the eyes. I smirked, I loved when people said that.

"Which one?" I asked, tilting my head. Curls fell in a tangled wave, laying on my shoulder. A flare of panic flashed in his eyes. I snorted. "Neither of them are here by the way." I snapped, shutting the door. I threw the locks home and stalked away. He knocked again. "Leave!" I shouted, anger boiling in my voice.

XxXx

Dad came home first, a surprise I didn't want. I was tapping away on my laptop, when he came in. "Hey Bug." He greeted softly. I flicked two fingers his way. "Bug..Hamish." His voice said, 'listen to me and look my way' so I did. He smiled slightly. "Your Father won't be home till late. I was thinking we could go out for dinner." He suggested. I shrugged. "Good. Put on some trousers maybe comb your hair." He left. _Alright?_ I pulled on black jeans and ran a comb through my hair and tied my Converse. Dad was on the couch, typing on his phone. "Ready?" A smile was o n his tired face. I nodded.

We walked down to the restaurant where Dad and Father had their first date. It was one of the places we went a lot so, they had our food ready in no time. Dad kept trying to strike a conversation but, I wasn't into it. We left and went back home. Dad grabbed his laptop and started on some work stuff. I disappeared into my room.

xxxxX

The next morning I decided to shower. After I washed I sat in there and cried for about twenty minutes. When certain thoughts flashed in my mind when I was shaving, I threw the razors into a lockable drawer. I dressed back into my sleep clothes and flopped onto the couch. I watched some show about murders and solved them all quickly.

Made tea. Cried. Slept. Walked to the locked razor drawer. Opened it. Closed it. Walked away. More tea. Back to the drawer. Open. Shut. Open. Stare at the contents for five minutes. Pick one up. Throw it in. Shut. Open. Grab one. Press to my left arm. Drag. Wash it. Back in the drawer. Locked.

I washed my arm and grabbed a hoodie. I yanked it on and watched more murder shows. I never looked back at the drawer for the rest of the day.

Father came home, ragged and dirty. "Hi Hamish." He greeted. I waved my right hand. If he noticed I wasn't using my dominant hand, he didn't say anything. Thirty minutes later he came down from the shower. "Where are all the razors Hamish?" He asked. Panic flared in me.

"I don't know." I answered. I felt him narrow his eyes. He padded to the kitchen and made tea. I slipped into my room to read.

XxXx

I ran the razor up my arms two more times that week. I don't know why, it only hurt and didn't take away the pain of loosing Mop. Dara and I hadn't talked since I told her. Dad called her mom to make sure she was alive. Barely, she had said, just like me. Holed up in her room, bawling. Dad kept trying to talk to me, I just didn't speak. It seemed to mute me. At night, when they went to bed, I would sneak some pills and get high. It took some of the edge off but, not much. I wondered if Dara was doing the same.

Two weeks after he died was the funeral. I dressed in my suit and joined the mourners. Luckily, Mop's mother was the best listener. She invited only those truly close to Mop and not the whole school. I hugged her tight and she clung to me through most of it. She was my mother, no doubt about it. Dara was my sister. During the time where people could speak, Mop's mother nudged me.

"Please Hamish. It would mean so much to him." She begged. I nodded, stood and walked awkwardly to the podium. Stares filled with tears fixed on me. Panic flared a bit in my belly. I fixed my eyes on Dara. _Like I'm telling a story._ Breath in. Out.

"Mop and I met on the first day of school. He was this shy, long haired kid. Dara was loud and in charge." I smiled at her. That got me some laughs. "A three-way bestfriendship was formed. We loved one another. Dara was the leader, strong and loud. We were her faithful subjects. And we liked it. Though we were all best friends, Mop and I had a more, profound bond. He came to me with his problems. I went to him." I swallowed. " Mop was my brother. We shared parents, swapping for the one we didn't have." I looked at his mother. She smiled at me though tears were pouring from her eyes." He left me a wonderful mother to look after. I'm glad to have been his friend. I'm glad he choose me to hold his secrets and fears. I'm glad I choose him to hold mine. No one could have done a better job. Mop, I love you and I hope where you are is filled with comic books and art. I'll see you when I see you." I smiled at the ceiling, tears dribbling down my face. I hoped of stage and went to his mother. She hugged me tight.

"I love you Hamish. Mop told me to tell you he loves you so much." She bawled into my shoulder. I held her tight.

"I know." Was my reply.

When he was lowered, Mop's mother and I threw in dirt. His siblings couldn't go, they were in jail for possession and other drug related charges. She clung to me even more as they buried him. Dara clung to me as well. I hooked my arms around their shoulders and held them as they cried. We were the last ones at his grave. Dad and Father were back home, waiting for me to come home. I helped Dara into her cab and watched her be taken home. I rode with Mop's mom back to her flat and made sure she got in. I told him my address and sat back.

**So, yea. Little boring, sorry about that. Not the best speech in the world but, I was tearing up as I wrote that part. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Aww I feel bad! I made you sir and ladies cry! (But, my evil writer side is laughing like a 1920's villain) Anywhoo (yes that's a word) I don't own Sherlock, BBC and Doyle do. **

I thought maybe burying Mop would give some closure to my life. Of course it didn't. After the parentals would leave in the morning I would go up to the graveyard and sit at his grave. Talking, making flower crowns out of the weed flowers that grew around. I would make one for him and me. Sometimes I would take my book bag up there, fill it with books, notebooks, colored pencils, food, water and, pens and just sit there all day.

One of the many rainy mornings I was having a panic attack cause I couldn't go up and visit Mop. I decided to brave the weather. I grabbed a hoodie, my bag and two umbrellas and set off. I got a cab quickly and told him where to go. He eyeballed me in the mirror. "You sure mate?" He asked in a thick accent. I nodded. "Alright." When we got there I paid him and set off to his grave. It was about five minutes in, under a mossy tree. When I got to his grave, the rain was coming down in a drizzle that would soak through in three hours or so.

"Hi Mop. It's raining." I sighed, sitting on the blanket I kept in my bag. I popped open my umbrella and opened the other. I set it so it sheltered the dirt that covered my best friend. I smiled and grabbed some of the weed flowers. I tied them into loose flower crowns and set two of them on the gravestone. "Lookin pretty there Mopy." I smirked, tying off a third one. My mobile rang. "Yea?" I answered.

"Hamish where are you?" Dad asked, kinda panicky. I sighed.

"Relax Dad. I'm at the shop. I wanted some Kinder Eggs." I told him, standing up.

"Alright. Just come home soon." He told me, hanging up. I looked to the gravestone.

"Gotta go. Sorry Mop." I placed three fingers on the stone and walked away.

When I got home, a small shop bag with three Kinder Eggs wrapped around my wrist, Dad was in his chair, sipping tea. "Hey Dad." I waved slightly at him.

"Hi Bug. Get some Eggs?" He asked, raising an eyebrow to the bag. I nodded and pulled them out. "Took you an hour and a half to get three Kinder Eggs?" He asked. I shrugged.

"I walked about a bit Dad." I played it off, opening an Egg. I pulled off one chocolate side and pooped it in my mouth. I pulled out the toy holder and pooped it open. "Aw cool a pirate panda." I put it in my pocket and ate the rest of the Egg. Dad sighed.

"Hamish are you sure you are alright?" He asked. I glared at him.

"Yea Dad I'm fine." I shrugged. His eyes said bullshit. He didn't say anything more, just sipped his tea while I ate the other Kinder Eggs. I slipped into my room to read.

xxxX

"Sherlock I'm worried about him. His pants had mud stains on them. There is no mud near the store!" Dad's whisper yell floated under my door later that night. Father scuffed.

"John there is some mud around London." Father told him, the rustle of paper following his words. "Or he went to see Mop." Father suggested, no emotion in his voice.

"I don't think that's healthy for him." Dad admitted. I snorted. As did Father.

"Says the man who visited my grave everyday." Father replied. I knew Dad would wince at that. "He's grieving John. Let him handle this. Only he can make himself move on." Father told Dad. A heavy huff came from Dad and footsteps going up the steps. I waited five minutes, that's how long it took Dad to get ready for bed, before going out. Father was in his chair, his violin in his hands. "Ah Hamish I was wondering when you would come out." He greeted. I shrugged and sat in Dad's chair.

"Is Dad mad at me?" I asked like a child. Father picked out a small part of a song before he answered.

"No I don't believe so. He doesn't want you to dwell on Mop forever." Father explained, plucking the strings. I nodded. _But, he did the same thing with Father!_ Father seemed to read my mind. "He doesn't want you going down the same path he did." He tried.

"But..how is one suppose to grieve?" I asked my hands, the slender fingers were all knotted together. Father plucked a slow song, one stuck in the back of my brain. Something he played many times when I was young. It tugged hard at my brain, trying to get me to remember it's name.

"However they feel like it. That is the problem with grief. There is no manual to it." Father sighed, continuing the song. The name hit me. _The Grievers Ballad._ He would play it on the rainiest of days or when Mycroft came over and they had a shouting match. He played it when my lizard, Newton, died.

But, Dad seems to think there is." I replied. Father snorted with laughter.

"Yes he certainly thinks so. He wants a manual for everything." Father smiled fondly at the bookshelves, filled with the oddest books. Manuals for cooking, raising toddlers, how to be a parent for a child that isn't your's, how to make homemade things. Then, there were Father's books, murder, science, random bits of history, books with no title. I had made room for me at the bottom of the shelf. Old picture books and small chapter books. The first skin from Newton. "Must really clean that shelf." Father noted. I laughed and nodded.

"Yes. Have Dad get right on that." I smirked as I stood. I hugged Father, said night and went to my room. _Mop you cause trouble even in death. _

**Some of you would wonder where my sad writing comes from well, that is from reading Gothic novels and looking at Sherlock fan art pics of John at Sherlock's grave. The Griever's Ballad is not a real song (I think, I Googled it and nothing came up as that name). I wanted to write more of Hamish and Sherlock chatting. I feel like they would have a strong bond, I don't hate John but, I really like Sherlock as a father. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Hiya. Super sorry for not updating but school started, got sick and all that jazz. I don't own Sherlock, you all know who does.**

School was going to start back up in a few days. I really didn't want to go, I wanted to stay curled up in grief forever. Dad wasn't having that though. I hadn't even done the schoolwork from before the murders. The Yard was nowhere near catching the guy, he had gone quiet. Father was getting frustrated. Dara and I talked on the phone every few days, making sure the other was still alive.

"Hamish, you alive?" Dad called, I poked y head up from the history book in front of me.

"Yea! Just doing some homework." I called back. That seemed to satisfy him and he left me alone till dinner.

Xx

Today was the day, school was starting back up. I really didn't want to go, neither did Dara. We met at her house since it was the closest to school and went together. Kids were squealing and hugging like it was the first day all over. Already, we were getting _those_ looks. The looks you give to homeless people holding signs or scrawny dogs on that commercial. I wanted to hit them all, how dare they look at us like that. We didn't want their sympathy. I hooked my arm around Dara's shoulder and we marched to our locker. I spun it open and there, on the middle shelf was his books. His notebooks, pencils, everything he needed to survive this Hell-hole. Tiny webs of pain cracked my hard surface, threatening to shatter me. I looked up to my shelf and grabbed what I needed. Dara did the same. We swept down the hall.

When I got home that afternoon, I was exhausted. I fell onto the couch and didn't want to mover, ever. Dad came in to find me like this. He chuckled and hung his coat up. "Tough day, Hamish?" He asked, going into the kitchen. I heard the kettle clunk on the stove top.

"You could say that." I told him. Silence filled the flat for a few moments till the kettle screamed. Dad shushed it and came in with the two cups of tea. He set one down in front of me and curled into his chair, laptop in hand.

"Yell me about it." He tried. _Are you my therapist now?_ I mentally snorted. I picked the cup and took a sip.

"People. They kept giving Dara and I _that_ look." I told the cup. Dad made an, "ah" noise.

"You'll get that for a while. Took people a year and a half to stop looking at me like that." Dad informed me. I nodded, not knowing what else to do. He finally gave up and went to his laptop. I sipped my tea awkwardly, waiting for something to happen. The sun to drop out, a giant, flying llama to come bursting in, anything. The thing that did happen was Father came home. He was in his brain, I could tell because he didn't say hello or anything. he swept in and up. Dad sighed and continued to tap away. I went to my room to start homework.

Xx

A week and I couldn't do it anymore. I was done with the looks and whispers. Done with the teachers telling me it was okay my homework wasn't done. Done with not getting in trouble for stuff that should have gotten me sent to the principle's office. I was done with it all. The following Monday I didn't go. Didn't call in, nothing. Around ten the school called the flat. I answered.

"Yes this is Ms. Holly from administrative and we were wondering why Mr. Holmes wasn't here today?" Her tone was to sweet.

"Because I didn't want to be." I told her.

"Darling you can't just not go to school." She tried.

"I just did. No one stopped me." I deadpanned. I heard her sigh.

"Sweetie you have to go to school." She tried again.

"Why? You aren't teaching me anything new. Seems pointless if you ask me." I told Ms. Holly. She was quite for a minute.

"Well, what about your friends? Don't you want to see them?" She asked.

"One of them is dead." I hung up. I tossed the phone onto the counter and left. I hailed a cab and told hi the address.

"Aren't you suppose to be in school, mate?" He asked, eyeing me in the mirror. I shrugged and looked out the window. When we got there I paid him and he drove off. I trekked into the cemetery and to Mop's grave. The dirt wasn't fresh anymore, tiny bits of grass poking up. A new thing of flowers rested on top. Probably from his mom. I grinned at the flowers and sat.

"Hey Mop." I whispered. A breeze ruffled through my hair. "Yea, its getting long. Not like your's though." I chuckled lightly. I reached for my backpack and pulled out a book. "Hope you don't mind if I read." I leaned against the stone and flipped the book open. I read till the tie school got out and went back home. I flopped on the couch and waited fro Dad.

**Not the most exciting. **


	15. Chapter 15

**Hi. I don't own Sherlock.**

I woke by my door being thrown open. I startled up to see Father standing in the doorway, panic in his eyes, a few stray tears on his cheek. "Father? You okay?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. He looked at me long and good before answering.

"Yea. I'm fine just, a bad dream. Go back to sleep." He shut the door and padded away. _Must have been a Moriarty dream._ I settled back into my blanket nest and back to sleep.

My dreams were a swirl of confusion. Mop was there, a raven on his shoulder. He kept mumbling about Batman and rocks. Next, Dad was in a pool of blood, Father crying over him. He turned to me and shouted, "This is your fault!" Over and over again. Another was of Dara being swallowed by Mop's grave. It was terrible.

When I woke up, it was around noon it was the Saturday after school re-started. I could hear Dad and Father speaking in the kitchen, Ms. Hudson throwing in her five cents sometimes. I pulled on some clothes and drug myself out. I was surprised to see Mycroft here. Father never allowed him in after he almost killed me when I was two. I curled my lip up at my "uncle". "Why is he here?" I asked Father, standing in the middle of the living room. Dad glared at me, trying to make me act civil. Mycroft flicked his eyes at Father, a smirk on his smug face.

"He came for tea." Father gritted out.

"Fine, lie to me." I shrugged and went into the kitchen. I could Mycroft's stare on my back. "Take a picture Mycroft, it'll last longer." I growled under my breath as I fixed a bowl of cereal. Father snorted in laughter at that.

"Sherlock learn to control your son!" Mycroft snapped at Father.

"Why? He's fine." Father told Mycroft. He snorted.

"Hardly. Drugs, Self harm, grades are slipping. He's a mess!" Mycroft snapped at the parentals. Dad sighed at this.

"Yes, yes I know this brother." Father said tersely, waving a slender hand. I slurped spoonfuls of cereal, watching Father argue with his brother.

"Don't slurp Hamish." Dad muttered automatically. I slurped louder, making Mycroft flinch.

"Horrible manners." He added to his list of things wrong with me. I snorted at this.

"Only you still have good manners." I added in, slurping cereal. He flinched at this again, his fingers tightening on his umbrella. Father smiled at me.

"Stop encouraging him!" Mycroft snapped at Father, standing up. "He needs to be taught properly how to carry the Holmes name." He delcared, stepping over to me. I edged back slowly like a shy deer. "I will teach him." He decided.

"Uhh how about no." I snapped, ready to smack his hand away.

"I agree with _my_ son, Mycroft." Father growled, stepping over to my side swiftly. His slender hand dropping on my shoulder. I leaned into him a bit. "I will not have you soil his mind with your, Mycroftyness." Father sneered. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock he's not a toy, he;s a human that make his own choices. Let the boy decide." Mycroft told Father, smiling at me. Mycroft has this weird smile that isn't a smile but is at the same time, like a wolf. Father looked at me.

"Well Hamish?" He asked.

"I'm not going with Mycroft, remember how he tried to kill me?" I used this to my advantage. Father's eyes darkened.

"Yes. You are definitely not going with him. Good day brother." Father pushed me away from Mycroft and ushered him to the door.

"Fine Sherlock but, remember, I could have prevented your son from going to jail or, worse." With that, Father shut the door. Dad was glaring at us.

"I can't believe you two. Mycroft was trying to reconnect with Hamish and you two shove him out the door. You're going to your uncle's, Hamish, and that's final. Sherlock you are not to meddle." Dad snapped, grabbing his phone. He called Mycroft and went to his room to speak with him.

"I'm not going, Father." I turned to my older counter part. He agreed with me. When Dad came back, we had a compelling argument.

"He could try to kill Hamish, John." Father tried. I tried as well, no luck. "He's not going." Father snapped. He stalked up the stairs and their door slammed shut a few moments. later.

"Such a child." Dad sighed. He grabbed his laptop and started to type. I went to my room to stew.

**Shorty short.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Poor Hamish. Has to go spend time with Mycroft. I don't own Sherlock.**

The next day, Sunday, was day Dad wanted me to go to Mycroft's. Father and I stood united. I woke up as late as possible, dressed in tattered jeans and my most vulgar shirt. Dad sighed loudly when he saw me. "Hamish, go change." He ordered. I shook my head. "Hamish! Go change." He snapped, pointing at my room.

"Nope." I replied, moving towards the kitchen. Dad growled and stalked off to find Father. I smirked and made some cereal. I hummed a Green Day song as I poured milk into the frosted flakes.

"John he's not going!" Father exploded upstairs, his low voice rumbling. I jumped, my spoon falling to the floor.

"Yes he is, Sherlock! And that's final!" Dad shouted, their door slamming. Dad came stomping down the stairs, his face twisted in anger. His blue eyes stormy and he flicked them at me. "Hamish you're going to Mycroft's." He snarled at me. I slurped some cereal.

"Nope." I replied, slurping up more cereal. He sighed loudly, rubbing his temples.

"Hamish, yes you are." He snapped out. I shook my head. "Hamish! Don't argue with me!" He shouted, whirling to glare at me.

"Why?" I asked, gulping some milk.

"Because I said so!" He threw his hands up. "Just do as I say!"

"But I don't want to go." I told him, finishing my cereal. He huffed loudly and fell onto the couch.

"Hamish, please just do this one thing for me." He pleaded. I washed out my bowl and looked back at him.

"Nope." I smirked at him, setting my bowl down.

"Hamish you're forcing me to want to start drinking again." He sighed out, his eyes shut. I shrugged and went to my room. I heard Father slip down the stairs and speak softly with Dad. Their voices raised a little but not above a regular shout. Father gave his common knock.

"Enter." I called out. He stepped in and shut the door.

"Hamish I was speaking with John and-" I cut him off swiftly.

"I'm not going." I snapped. He sighed.

"I know. I can't force you and neither can your dad. You know Mycroft will do everything in his power to get you to go though. I hope you're ready for that." He stepped out.

Xx

The next day, school. As I went through the halls, my backpack weighted with homework, someone slammed into me. I was shoved into some lockers. _Jack._ I turned to meet him. His sneering face and right in front of me. "Hi Jack, nice to see your smiling face this afternoon." I grinned at him. He punched me in the stomach. "Hey, I need that to eat." I gasped out. He punched me in the mouth. "Also need that to eat." I spit out some of the growing blood and looked up at him. "Any reason for this?" He shook his head and punched me repeatedly. By the end, I was curled up inward, arms placed so none of my organs would explode.

"Fight back dammit!" He roared, throwing me to the ground. I splayed out, almost hitting some girls. They squealed and jumped back. Jack kicked me three times before he roared again. "Fucking fight you fag!" He roared, kicking me in the face.

"Alright." I sighed after I could see again. I slammed my fist into his face, feeling his nose crack under my fists. It turned into the angst driven fight, no teachers or students tried to break it u. At the end we both were bloody and beaten. My chest rattled and my face bled all over the floor. We glared at each other and went our separate ways.

When I got home, Dad leaped up. "Hamish! What happened?!"He cried, rushing towards me. I shrugged and flinched as I breathed.

"Fight." I muttered, moving towards the couch. I fell onto it and wrapped my arm around my chest. my breath rattled through my chest and it hurt to breath. "Ow..ow..ow..ow." I hissed and I breathed. Dad sat next to me.

"Hamish, what hurts?" He asked. I waved at all of me. "Specific." He muttered. I pointed to my chest. and hissed again. "Let me see." He muttered. I shook my head. "Dammit Hamish I'm trying to help!" He snapped. I nodded and unzipped my hoodie and took off my t-shirt. My chest was bruised already. "Jesus." Dad breathed, his eyes twitching all over the bruises. He placed his hands softly on my chest and it made me wince. He pushed down, bringing tears. It felt like he was pushing stones onto my chest. "C'mon Hamish." He pulled me up and threw my hoodie at me. I followed him out the door and into a cab. He directed it to St. Barts.

"Dad, I'm fine." I muttered, arms looped around my chest. He shook his head and called Father.

"Sherlock, I'm taking Hamish to the hospital, he got into a severe fight today." He paused to listen to Father. "Possible broken ribs, bad bruising, a list of things." Dad replied. "Yes would I go anywhere else?" He chuckled and glanced at me, it sobered him. "See you there. Love you." He hung up and watched London pass. Finally, we got to St. Bart's. Dad ushered me in and went to talk to his doctor friends.

"Hi Hamish, what happened to you?" Molly asked as she came up to me.

"Fight." I whispered. She nodded, pain in her eyes. Dad waved me towards him. "Bye." I followed him in. My doctor led me to tho the x-ray machine. He got me all situated and took them.

"Alrighty Hamish, you've got some bruised ribs and one cracked." He explained, pointing to the x-rays. Dad nodded. "It'll heal in about six weeks so just take some pain medication and sleep. You'll be fine. Now, your face and stomach are bruised, I think your nose might be broken as well." He explained. Dad nodded. _Why did we come here? Dad could have figured this all by himself. _I thought, rolling my eyes. Dad and the doctor chattered for a few minutes before Father arrived.

"Hamish! Are you alright?" Father came rushing over, and looked me over.

"Yea, I'm fine." I told him. He flicked his eyes at Dad.

"He was some bruised ribs and a cracked rib." Dad explained. Father nodded. He turned to me.

"Hamish, what happened?" He asked. I shrugged. "No, that's not going to cut it." He snapped.

"Jack and I fought." I shrugged again. He sighed loudly.

"Hamish.." He trailed off.

"He punched me first!" I told him. He shook his head. I looped my arms back around my chest and winced. "Ow.." Father's eyes softened.

"C'mon Hamish, let's get you home." Father looped his arm around my shoulder and led me out.


End file.
